


12 O'Clock

by GEGabriels



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GEGabriels/pseuds/GEGabriels
Summary: Enjolras thought he knew every member of the Les Amis thoroughly. Even Grantaire. And then, something happens when they're alone. And Enjolras is left with a secret he can never tell any one else... Or else.
Relationships: Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enjolras & Les Amis de l'ABC
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Implied Rape

"Courfeyrac, I can't concentrate," Combeferre said from beside Enjolras, as Courfeyrac twirled around the Musain, singing some sort of strange pop song that Enjolras hadn't heard before.

"I'm working," Courfeyrac contradicted, pausing his singing. Enjolras frowned,

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. Remember, I'm supposed to come up with a protest song!" Enjolras sighed, diverting his attention away from the online newspaper he and Combeferre had previously been studying together. It had recently released an article on why the Les Amis de l'ABC was a terrorist group, supposedly, and while articles like that were normal, this one had been written by some sort of celebrity. And had garnered quite a bit of attention. Enjolras and Combeferre, for the safety of the group, were trying to figure out ways to undo the damage that had been done. While they normally didn't care about the group's appearance, if too many people hated them, that could drive away potential allies, which was the last thing they needed happening. When the rest of the Les Amis had left their weekly meeting, Combeferre and Enjolras had stayed behind to work, as they always did. And Courfeyrac had stayed behind to make sure the two left at a reasonable time. And to bug them. Enjolras was convinced that was one of his intentions.

"That's not a protest song," Combeferre said, Courfeyrac grinning,

"Not yet, at least!" He began singing and dancing again, Enjolras doing his best to drown him out, as he and Combeferre reread the article in front of them for what seemed to be the fortieth time that hour.

"What are we going to do?" Combeferre asked, Enjolras rubbing his hands over his face,

"More community service… Counter article…" He listed off the most obvious solutions. Combeferre yawned, placing a hand on Enjolras' shoulder,

"I'm rather tired, I've been up since four, would you mind Courfeyrac and I heading home?" Combeferre asked. Enjolras shrugged,

"Fine with me. We aren't making any headway right now anyways," he said. Combeferre smiled, kissing Enjolras' cheek,

"You should try and head home soon too." Enjolras kissed his cheek in return, not responding, as Courfeyrac skipped over from the corner, giving Enjolras a quick hug, before skipping out the door. Combeferre chuckled, following after his enthusiastic friend, "Goodbye, Enjolras. Oh, and by the way, Grantaire's still here," Combeferre pointed off towards Grantaire, who was sitting by himself in the corner, staring mournfully at an empty bottle. Enjolras hadn't noticed him, before, which was probably a good thing. He didn't understand the teasing tone everyone always got in their voices, as they talked about Grantaire around him. It was an… Amused tone, almost. Combeferre walked out the door, and Enjolras took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, in the way that Combeferre always scolded him for, the front legs of the chair off the ground, and his legs stretched out as far as they could go. Which wasn't far. But it was enough.

It was dark, outside the window, and the lights in the room were off, the lamp Grantaire had on his table and the moonlight being the main source of light. Enjolras contemplated opening a window, to enjoy the night air while he studied, but decided against it, as the winter air tended to chill him. He was not like Combeferre or Bahorel, both of whom could walk outside in twenty degrees without a shirt on, and not shiver once. His body required warm temperatures, in order to stay functioning. He turned his head towards Grantaire, wondering if he should maybe strike up a conversation with the raven-haired man. That seemed like the polite thing to do. So he lowered the front legs of his chair down to the ground, and called out, "hey, Grantaire?" Grantaire whipped his head around at the sound of Enjolras' voice,

"Yes, Apollo?" He asked, and Enjolras wasn't sure if he met it mockingly or not. Reading people, and tone of voice, were not exactly Enjolras' strong suits.

"Just saying hey," Enjolras said with a shrug, hoping that didn't come out cruel or something. He never knew. Grantaire's cheeks flushed red, though Enjolras thought the alcohol he had recently consumed may have something to do with that. Grantaire suddenly jumped to his feet,

"Excuse me, for a second," he said, hurrying out of the room. Enjolras confusedly looked at the door. Grantaire came back in a minute later, closing the door behind him, a small click heard after it. Grantaire sat across the table from Enjolras, intently staring at him, for what seemed like a minute. Okay. Enjolras was horrible at reading people, but he knew that staring for that long was a bit awkward.

"...So," Grantaire finally said, clearing his throat. He reeked of alcohol, just as Enjolras did of caffeine. So Enjolras didn't judge him for that, "what did you do today?" Enjolras blinked,

"Oh. I assisted Combeferre with trying to figure out a counter to the recent article, gave a speech at an elementary school, and fought with homophobes online. You wouldn't believe what some of their arguments are. And our future is looking bright," Enjolras ran a hand through his blonde curls, trying to recall if he'd done anything else noteworthy that day, or night, as the clock was about to strike twelve. Grantaire laughed,

"I like it when you're passionate," he slurred. Enjolras simply raised an eyebrow, looking back down at the article his computer screen was showing. He knew he wouldn't be able to focus on it anymore, and perhaps night air might actually help. He stood up, walking over to the window, Grantaire following. A normal person would have bolted halfway through the walk. But Enjolras was not a normal person. Only an oblivious one. It took him until Grantaire was staring right in front of him, to stumble backwards at the look in his eyes. It was passion, like Enjolras normally had glittering in his own eyes. But a very different kind. Enjolras didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. His instincts took over, and he ran towards the door. Locked. Grantaire had locked it. He never got to unlock it. As he was slammed into a wall, a hand pressed over his mouth. The clock ticked twelve.

He walked home alone through the snow, at three. Snow coated his hair, and he powered on, only because he must. His legs wanted to give out underneath him, and he felt like a newborn colt. But they stayed steady. Because they must, too. Snow from a storm before happily caked into the bare patch of skin between his pants and his shoe, stinging it. Snow collected in his hair, and some melted, turning to water, which poured down his cheeks. He left most of his stuff at the Musain, not wanting to carry it home through the snow. Neither Courfeyrac nor Combeferre answered his phone, as he desperately called them to pick him up. So he fled the Musain on his own, with only his laptop and his phone. He forced himself to make his way up the stairs without collapsing, and finally, finally, stuck his key into the keyhole on the doorknob to his apartment. He twisted the keys, and threw the door open. The second his feet touched the soft carpet, he closed the door behind him, before collapsing. He lifted his head up, struggling to a sitting position, and wrapping his arms around his legs, before leaning over himself, and vomiting. He then let himself collapse entirely. He just wanted to sink into the floor, and never emerge. Just die. There are arms suddenly, lifting him up, and a hushed voice in his ear, and he panicked.

"No, NO!" He screeched, struggling against it, "GET AWAY FROM ME, DON'T TOUCH ME!" Tears poured down his face, and the person didn't stop, and only continued to whisper to him, before yelling something behind him. Then, there was a second person, joining the first, and Enjolras could't fight them, because he was so tiny, and he needed to get stronger... His eyes were firmly shut, and more tears fell down his face, and he was placed on a soft surface. He felt safe. To a degree. And then, one of the people tried to touch his shirt, to remove it, and he panicked again.

"Enjolras, Enjolras, stop," A voice broke through the fuzz that seemed to surround his ears. He didn't stop, only lashed out more, because no, they couldn't touch him. He can hear muffled voices, and then, something hits the side of his head, and everything goes black.

He wakes up. He didn't know what day it was, or what time. He blinked, sitting up in bed. His legs ached terribly. The clouds around his mind hadn't entirely dispersed, but everything was clearer. He was in his bedroom. He could hear voices outside of the room. Familiar voices. He cried out, and the door swung open, Combeferre rushing in, to his side, "Oh, thank god," he breathed out, Enjolras blinking.

"What exactly -" Enjolras began, Combeferre shushing him, and standing up, calling for Courfeyrac, who walked in, carrying a glass of water, which he handed to Enjolras.

"Oh, praise the nonexistent lord!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, "if you had been out any longer, we may have had to take you to the hospital!" Enjolras took a small sip of the water, wincing as it burned his throat. Combeferre reached out, running his fingers through Enjolras' hair as well. Enjolras also winced, at that.

"You came home really late, we were starting to get worried," Combeferre said, "we found you collapsed on the floor." Courfeyrac nodded solemnly,

"Yeah. In vomit. It was gross!" He helpfully added. Combeferre kicked him in the shin.

"You were unresponsive. When I picked you up, you were panicking… It didn't stop. I couldn't call 911, we all know that's not safe… So I knocked you out…" Combeferre stared down at his feet, looking ashamed over the fact that he had punched his best friend in the head. Enjolras hesitantly touched Combeferre's hand,

"It's alright." Courfeyrac leaned over the bed, leaning his head onto the covers,

"Soooo, what exactly happened last night?" Courfeyrac asked, Enjolras tensing.

"Nothing," he said, leaning his head back against the bed board. Combeferre frowned, gently touching his forehead,

"Are you ill? You're a bit warm." Enjolras shrugged,

"I don't know," He muttered, rolling over in bed. He just wanted them to leave him alone. And shower. He desperately wanted to shower. Try and clean the experience off of him. Wash away the feeling of Grantaire's hands around his -

"Enjolras," Combeferre said, and he realized that he had zoned out.

"C-can I just shower?" He asked, rubbing his hands across his face. Combeferre bit his lip,

"You gave us quite a scare, last night. Is it really the best idea to shower if you've been collapsing, what if something happens?!" Enjolras rolled his eyes,

"Nothing's going to happen," he muttered. Courfeyrac came in from where he was now sitting beside Enjolras on the bed,

"We could just shower together," he casually offered. Showering together was not uncommon for the trio, who were closer than even a married pair. The weirdest thing about that is that every feeling they felt for one another was strictly platonic. Enjolras' head spun,

"God, no," he said, Courfeyrac giving him a hurt look. Combeferre placed his own hand on his chin. He was beginning to grow somewhat of a beard. It greatly annoyed Courfeyrac. So it stayed.

"You can shower if the door's left open." Enjolras gave him a desperate look,

"No, please. I'll call you if something's wrong," Enjolras nearly put his hands together, in the classical begging position. Combeferre exhaled slowly,

"Alright. Go shower." Courfeyrac helped Enjolras out of bed, and Enjolras quickly took extra clothes from his closest, before hurrying into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. He locked it, even though he knew Combeferre wouldn't approve. He slowly removed his shirt. It seemed his ribs were all black and blue. Literal fingerprints were visible. Grantaire had been careful. Hadn't left a mark anywhere that could be seen with a T-Shirt on. Then, his pants. And his least favorite part. Underwear. He stared at himself in the mirror, tears forming in his eyes. He was broken. Filthy. A sudden thought occurred inside his head, and he frowned, placing a hand on his stomach. No. Chances were too low. He stepped into the shower, turning on the water, not caring that it was cold, at first.

It gradually turned warmer, and he leaned his head back, letting the water flower through his golden curls. He usually hated showering. That came with being transgender, for him. He felt sick, as he obsessively scrubbed soap over his body.

Everything that had happened had to be a secret, because Grantaire had pictures. Pictures of Enjolras' without clothing. That could endanger Enjolras' career. He'd apparently… Collected them, over the years. Enjolras slumped against the shower wall, feeling helpless. So utterly helpless.

He then began sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret everything. This may become a multichaptered work?
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment! Even if it's just to yell at me!


	2. 2

Stepping out of the shower was just as bad as stepping in. Shivers racked through his body, as the cold air hit his skin. He quickly put on the clothes he had picked out from before. A long-sleeved red shirt, and black pants. Simple enough. They covered up the bruises just fine. He left the bathroom, after tying his hair into a ponytail. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were waiting for him at the kitchen island, each of them eating breakfast. They both looked up the second he walked out of the bathroom, smiling.

"You up for food?" Combeferre asked, Enjolras shrugging, and slumping onto a seat beside them, leaning his elbows on the table, in the way he had always been told was "bad manners."

"I dunno." Combeferre frowned. Enjolras always had a firm opinion about everything. It was always "yes" or "no" with him. Never maybe. Never "I dunno." Combeferre slid a plate out in front of Enjolras anyways, and Enjolras stared down at it. Bacon and eggs. It looked unappetizing. Enjolras poked at the eggs with his fork, but he wasn't hungry. He did what he always did when he didn't feel like eating. Dump his plate onto Courfeyrac's, who always felt like eating. Courfeyrac beamed at him, and Enjolras took his plate to the counter, before glancing at the time. 6:30. He had to start getting ready for work. Combeferre, as if reading his mind, turned around in his seat to face Enjolras,

"I called you out," he said. Enjolras gave him a frustrated look,

"Why?" He asked. Combeferre scanned Enjolras over, from head-to-toe,

"I hardly think you're in a fit enough condition to go to work today." Enjolras scowled. But he knew Combeferre was right. Combeferre was always right. Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming in protest of his existence. He was light-headed, and leaning against the kitchen counter to stay upright. Fear pressed down on his chest like a weight, and each breath was a gasp, as if that weight was real. And was crushing him. Even though he had just come out of the shower, he didn't feel clean. He could still feel Grantaire's hands on his skin…

"Enjolras?" Combeferre said, refocusing Enjolras' attention.

"Hm?" Enjolras said, wiping at his heavy eyes with his hand.

"I said, I'm going to head out to work in a few minutes," Combeferre said. Courfeyrac didn't have to leave until 7:00, which was in thirty or so minutes, Enjolras knew. Enjolras bit his lip, wrapping his arms around himself insecurely, and managing to quell his pride, before saying,

"C-can you stay with me? Just for today?" Enjolras asked. He didn't want to be alone. If he was alone, then Grantaire could come back. Combeferre gave him a shocked look. Normally, Enjolras would never ask this of him. But he was so scared…

Fear was typically a foreign feeling to Enjolras, much to Combeferre's distress. He would climb to the top of twenty foot trees, and run headfirst into a riot, without a second thought. He would scale the refrigerator when he was a toddler, until Combeferre pulled him down. The fear he felt at the moment felt so… Strange. Combeferre slowly nodded,

"Yes, Enjolras. I'll stay," he said, before walking off to call himself out. Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a confused look,

"Are you okay?" He asked. Enjolras simply shrugged, closing his eyes. Even though he had been knocked out for however long, courtesy of Combeferre, he was still exhausted. There was a sudden hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, blushing when he saw that it was just Combeferre. Combeferre pressed a gentle hand to his forehead,

"You're a bit warm, like last night. You've probably just caught a little bug." Enjolras knew it was just stress… Overwhelming stress, causing the rising temperature of his body.

Courfeyrac left ten minutes later, leaving Enjolras and Combeferre alone in the kitchen. They had a type of relationship that let them simply sit in silence together, and still feel connected. This wasn't normal silence, however. And they both knew it.

"You… Want to watch a documentary?" Combeferre finally said, Enjolras nodding, and curling up on the couch, while Combeferre attempted to track down the remote, which had a habit of going missing. Especially if Courfeyrac happened to have been the last one to use it. Combeferre sat down on the opposite side of the couch, turning on some documentary they had watched the last time they actually had time to watch anything. They simply stared at it in silence for a few minutes. Enjolras slowly began inching towards Combeferre, letting out a small sigh, as he leaned his head against Combeferre's shoulder, Combeferre smiling, and running a hand through his hair. Enjolras had to remind himself that was Combeferre, and Combeferre was safe, and Combeferre wasn't Grantaire. Combeferre's touch was gentle, and soft, and not at all like Grantaire's. And as he remembered Grantaire's touch, everything started coming back to him, like waves crashing against the shore, or a tide overwhelming the beach. He leapt into a standing position, Combeferre raising an eyebrow.

"M'gonna… M'gonna throw up," Enjolras choked out, before running into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut. He gagged over the toilet bowl, emptying the limited contents of his stomach, and wiped a few lines of spit off of his chin with his hand. He struggled to control his breathing, and leaned his forehead against the bathroom wall as he panted. The door slowly opened, and Combeferre walked in, a glass of water in his hand, which he handed to Enjolras.

"Slow, small sips." Combeferre's voice was soothing to his ears, and he did as his best friend said, the water feeling cool on his parched throat. He probably should have drinken more. That might be why he had been light-headed. Combeferre pulls him up to his feet, and Enjolras winces, as Combeferre's hands touch the bruises littering his side. "You going to be alright now?" Combeferre asked, Enjolras nodding, and heading back into the living room, curling up against Combeferre's side. The documentary was still running. Enjolras wasn't really paying attention to it, though. Combeferre's phone rang, and Combeferre picked it up,

"Eponine," he explained, standing to leave the room. Enjolras wanted to clutch onto Combeferre's shirt, and force him to stay with him, but he didn't, letting Combeferre go into his bedroom. He was glad that Combeferre liked having privacy when talking to his girlfriend. Because Courfeyrac had no value for privacy at all, and Enjolras often heard him talking to Jehan over the phone about certain… Experiences they had the previous night, while Enjolras choked on his own spit listening to it. Enjolras personally though of any sort of sexual act as repulsive. How ironic that was… He stood from the couch, opening the sliding glass door, and stepping out onto the balcony. He didn't normally go barefoot on it, due to a few unfortunate incidents with splinters, but he didn't feel like putting on shoes. It was chilly, and he shivered, but the sun had decided to make its presence known, for once, and the misty sunlight of the morning pooled down onto the balcony, the shadows from the surrounding trees dancing across Enjolras' skin. He put his foot in the gap between the railings, wondering what it would feel like to jump. Just jump. Leave all of his problems behind. But no… He needs to stay alive, to make a change. Right? Before he could ponder this further, Combeferre joined him on the balcony. Enjolras turned his blue eyes in Combeferre's direction, to acknowledge his friend's presence.

"What did Eponine want, hm?" He asked teasingly, Combeferre rolling his eyes, and teasingly pushing Enjolras. Enjolras frowned, straightening himself up.

"She was calling to remind me that I'm watching Gavroche on Thursday while she's at work," Combeferre said, Enjolras nodding. Combeferre stared out over the balcony, at the tranquil landscape, "beautiful, isn't it?" Enjolras nodded again, before turning around, and walking back inside, feeling satisfied with the few breaths of fresh air he'd gotten.

Later that evening, once Courfeyrac had gotten home, Combeferre looked at the time, frowning,

"Oh, we were supposed to have a meeting today, something about a dog," Combeferre said. Enjolras frowned,

"What does a dog have to do with social justice?" Combeferre just laughed. They had a strange group of friends, that was for sure. Courfeyrac looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, texting someone,

"You up for it, E?" Enjolras thought, for a second. Grantaire usually only attended one meeting a week. So he wouldn't be there, right? And Combeferre would be beside him the whole time. Yeah, he'd be fine. He nodded, Courfeyrac grinning, and clapping his back. He stumbled back into the wall, Courfeyrac lifting his hands up, "okay, okay, jeez, dude." Combeferre put on his blue jacket, tossing Enjolras his red one from the coat rack. Courfeyrac was already wearing his multicolored one. It made Enjolras' eyes bleed. They headed out the door, and Enjolras was not ready for all of the people they saw, as they walked outside. At the sight of any large man, Enjolras clutched Combeferre's hand, like a child would to their parent. It had not registered in Enjolras' scattered brain that Combeferre was also a large man. Even larger then Grantaire.

Enjolras couldn't tell anyone what had happened, because of the pictures. But he was fairly sure no one would believe him either. Grantaire might not necessarily had the cleanest legal record, but he was close to almost half of the Les Amis. Maybe Grantaire was in the right. And Enjolras in the wrong, Enjolras thought. Tease. Tease was an interesting word. Enjolras had first heard it in second grade, when he'd complained to the teacher that the boys in his class kept pulling his hair. She had told him that it was his fault, because he kept putting his curls on display, and that he was teasing them. She'd said that he should just wear his hair up in a bun. He'd also heard it in eight grade, when the principal told him that he couldn't wear t-shirts in the school, along with the girls, because they were too "distracting" to the boys. Wearing short sleeves was apparently teasing them. Maybe that's what he'd done. Maybe he'd teased Grantaire too much, and Grantaire had taken action. Maybe it was all his fault.

The trio walked into the Musain, Courfeyrac cheerfully singing Christmas carols, despite the fact that Christmas was an entire month ago. Combeferre instantly struck up a conversation with Joly as they entered, Enjolras scanning the room, while Courfeyrac ran over to Jehan. And then, Enjolras spotted him. Grantaire winked, and heat rushed through Enjolras body, as he stumbled backwards, right into Combeferre's arms. Combeferre only paused his conversation for a moment, looking down at Enjolras and chuckling, saying,

"Why, hello there," before continuing. Enjolras took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to meet Grantaire's eyes. The man was smiling. Smiling at Enjolras' fear. Cosette was cuddling a dog, who was probably about to be the main subject of the meeting, for whatever reason. Nobody seemed alarmed with Grantaire's presence. Enjolras was, especially as the man crossed the room, to stand right in front of him. And suddenly he could feel Grantaire's hands on his side again, slowly inching down, while he was powerless to stop them. Weak. He was weak. Grantaire was right in front of him, Combeferre behind him. He could feel Grantaire's breath against his skin... And he panicked. On the fight, flight, or freeze scale, Enjolras had always fallen into the fight category. And that hadn't changed. He screamed,

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Pushing Grantaire backwards. The entire Musain stared at them, for a second, before Grantaire said,

"Ow, E, what the hell was that for!?" He sounded genuinely hurt. Curse his superb acting. Combeferre rushed forward, pulling Enjolras back, while Joly and Bossuet hurried to Grantaire's side. Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a confused look,

"What the heck's been wrong with you today?!" He exclaimed. Enjolras didn't answer, as Combeferre tugged him out the door,

"Sorry R, He's been feeling a bit off, and his judgements not top pier," Combeferre called behind him. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras walked halfway home in silence, before Courfeyrac finally spoke up,

"You shouldn't have pushed R, but he also should have been so close to you. We all know that's uncomfortable for you, unless it's Ferre, and he should have remembered that." Enjolras gave Courfeyrac a tight smile, before turning to Combeferre,

"Are you angry with me?" He nervously asked. Combeferre sighed, giving Enjolras an honest look, before speaking,

"No. Just disappointed. You know you don't put your hands on someone just because you're angry, Enjolras. Three-year-olds know that. You need to try harder to control your temper."

" _But he put his hands on me_ ," Enjolras wanted to scream. But he didn't. Instead, he just nodded. The words got caught in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is turning into a multichaptered thing. Feel free to yell at me in the comments lol.


	3. 3

"Enjolras, you need to get up." Enjolras groaned, as Combeferre ripped his red blanket off of his sleeping form. "Enjolras come on, you've got to get out of bed." Enjolras pulled the blanket back over his head, Combeferre tugging it right back.

"What time is it?" Enjolras grumbled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Combeferre sighing,

"Ten, Enjolras. Now come on, we always get coffee together on Sunday, and I already let you sleep in for an extra hour!" Enjolras pushed himself up in a sitting position, Combeferre crossing his arms, and giving him a worried look, "are you alright, E? You're usually up early, but these past few weeks, I've had to drag you out of bed." Enjolras shrugged, leaning his head against the headboard,

"I'm fine, I guess." Combeferre sighed once more, pulling Enjolras out of bed, and sitting down on the floor,

"Get dressed, E," Combeferre said. Enjolras blinked, as Combeferre made no move to leave the room.

"Um, would you mind leaving?" Enjolras asked. Combeferre gave him a smile, a teasing look in his eyes, as he stood up from his position on the floor, moving to sit on the edge of Enjolras' bed,

"Nothing there I haven't already seen." Enjolras rolled his eyes, pushing Combeferre out of the bedroom, and closing the door. He walked over to the door that led to the bathroom connected to both his and Combeferre's room. There were two bathrooms in the house, Enjolras and Combeferre sharing one, and Courfeyrac, who always took hours to apply makeup and do his hair every morning, getting his own. Enjolras locked the door behind him, and made sure the doorway to Combeferre's room was locked, before he took off his shirt, dropping the clothes he had brought with him on the floor, and staring at himself in the mirror. The bruises were still there, albeit a bit faded. One of the cuts had become swollen, and he winced, as he touched it. His face was pale, and his eyes were not his own. Like Grantaire had sucked all of the life out of them. He sort of understood why Combeferre was worried. But he'd be fine, he knew, as he stepped into the shower.

Ten minutes later, he exited the shower, putting on new clothes, and staring at himself in the mirror once again. His hair was wet. The curls would become a tangled mess, if he didn't brush them soon. He didn't care, he decided, leaving the bathroom, and throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper beside his bed. Combeferre raised an eyebrow, as he walked over.

"Your hair will tangle terribly if you don't take a comb to it now." Enjolras sighed, rejecting the muffin Combeferre offered him.

"I don't care." Combeferre gave him an indiscernible look, before going into the bathroom, and emerging with a comb, which he proceeded to pull through Enjolras' wild curls. Enjolras immediately went limp against Combeferre's chest as he worked, and Combeferre pushed him back into a stable position once he was done.

"There, let's go," Combeferre said, literally pulling Enjolras out the door, and heading out to the car.

"Where's Courf?" Enjolras asked Combeferre.

"He's over at Jehan's with R, I believe." Enjolras tensed at Grantaire's nickname, and keen Combeferre noticed this right away, "did you and Grantaire have a fight? Things have seemed tense between you two, lately." Enjolras swallowed, pressing his hands to his side,

"Yeah… You could say that." Combeferre nodded, and Enjolras leaned his head onto the car window, looking out at the surrounding trees, and mountains. The cool glass felt good against his warm cheek, and he crossed his arms.

"What was the fight about?" Combeferre, dear, ever prying Combeferre asked. Enjolras didn't answer the question directly, instead mumbling,

"It was… My fault," while looking down at his red sneakers. Combeferre let out a small hum,

"Did you apologize?" Enjolras shook his head. "You can apologize to him at the meeting tonight," Combeferre said firmly. It wasn't that hard to believe that Enjolras had been at fault in the supposed argument. Enjolras had poor social and observational skills, and Combeferre kept bugging him to get tested for ADHD and Autism. Enjolras ignored him. Everyone always seemed to blame Enjolras for whatever happened anyways. It was always, "what did you do, Enjolras?" Not what the other person did. Everyone except for Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They always waited to see both sides of the story. Enjolras loved them dearly.

Enjolras blinked, as they drove past the place they usually got their coffee, "um, Combeferre," he said, "you just passed it." Combeferre kept his eyes trained on the road, and his face expressionless,

"I know." Enjolras didn't bother asking where they were going. Maybe it was just to a new coffee place Combeferre had found. They drove out to the urgent care, and Enjolras paled, as Combeferre pulled into the parking lot.

"What -" He started, Combeferre smirking, and unbuckling himself, twisting around in his seat to face Enjolras.

"You're getting a few tests done, congrats." At the increasingly angered glare Enjolras was shooting at him, Combeferre's eyes softened, "I'm worried, Enj, you haven't been yourself, lately." Enjolras didn't particularly want to be poked and prodded at by a random person, when he already knew what was wrong. But he knew Combeferre would be suspicious if he flat out refused, and might conduct his own operation at home, which would most likely be far more intrusive. Besides, so long as his shirt stayed on, the doctor wouldn't know, right?

"You tricked me." Enjolras did his best to sound extremely offended. Combeferre just chuckled, and pulled Enjolras across the parking lot by the hand, like he was afraid he would dart off at any minute. To be fair, Enjolras had considered that… They made their way to the waiting room, Combeferre speaking to the man at the front desk, before joining Enjolras at the seats.

"I want to die," Enjolras placed his head in his hands, Combeferre giving him a stern look,

"That's not funny to even joke about, E," he said sharply. Enjolras refrained from rolling his eyes, as he generally saw himself as a mature person, instead just huffing, and leaning back against the seat he was in. Combeferre pulled out his phone, and began sorting through numerous political articles, occasionally poking Enjolras to commentate on a sentence. Enjolras really didn't care, which shocked him. Politics energized him, in a way. He simply wasn't interested, that day. And hadn't been most of the week. Enjolras stood, as a nurse poked her head out of the door, calling his name. Enjolras began zoning out, as Combeferre talked to the nurse in his place, filling her in on exactly what was wrong, in an extremely detailed manner. She nodded, and they entered the exam room, Enjolras sitting down on the exam table, and staring at the vibrant stickers on the wall. It looked like a pediatrician room. Enjolras hated it. The nurse frowned, after listening to his heart,

"His heart rate's up. Almost like he's nervous," she commented. Enjolras simply scoffed. Of course he was nervous. Combeferre's hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it, Combeferre warmly smiling at him. A thermometer was slipped into his mouth, and Enjolras blinked, not protesting. A minute later, the nurse took it out, "it's slightly up," she commented, Enjolras leaning his head against the wall. Damn. The cut from earlier was probably starting to become infected. Whatever. He'd deal with it. If there was one thing Enjolras was good at, it was dealing with things. After another few minutes, the nurse finally finished up the check-up, and left the room, to go get something. Enjolras locked eyes with Combeferre, who placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Very good, E," he said, Enjolras stealing Combeferre's phone, and staring at the article he was reading.

"Oh, no they didn't," he growled, reading the headline, Combeferre chuckling, looking relieved to see Enjolras acting somewhat normal. The nurse walked back into the room, and Enjolras felt something cool against his arm, "what's -" he began, the nurse taking out a needle without any further warning.

"Just a bit of blood work," she casually said, Enjolras paling, and closing his eyes, as a needle was injected into the spot the nurse had picked. Everything he already been through felt way worse, compared to the needle. But he still didn't want to look at it. Once the nurse had finished, she wrapped a bandage around the area, and walked off, coming back in a few minutes later, "alright," she said, "he seems mainly healthy." Combeferre frowned,

"But he can't be, he's just been so off this past week…" His voice trailed off, the nurse shrugging,

"He's probably just has been fighting a cold, and that's been making him tired," she said. Combeferre shook his head firmly,

"No, I've seen him with colds before, that's not the same thing. His glands aren't up, and he isn't congested either. This is more, I'm sure." The nurse shrugged again,

"I do have… One other theory," she said, Enjolas freezing, "well, most of his symptoms line up with… Depression?" Combeferre lost it then and there,

"Enjolras is _not_ depressed," he said, in about as forceful of a tone as he ever took, "nothing has happened lately that would make him so, and he's never struggled with depression before." Enjolras wasn't really paying attention to what Combeferre was saying, but he knew Combeferre was defending him in some way.

"Perhaps he's always suffered from it, he just hasn't told you?" Combeferre gave her a level look,

"Enjolras always tells me everything. He wouldn't hide _anything_ from me." A few tears pricked in Enjolras eyes. He hadn't been telling Combeferre the truth, lately. He'd been hiding it from him. And he felt so ashamed… But he would feel even more ashamed if he told Combeferre what had happened. Then, Combeferre would know how weak he truly was, and how much of a liability Enjolras was certain he was. A burden. Combeferre would see him as a burden. He was sure. "Thank you anyways, ma'am. You did test him for a few things, correct?" Combeferre asked. The nurse nodded,

"Yes. You should have the results soon. Best of luck." Combeferre took Enjolras' hand, leaving the room. They got into the car, once Combeferre had talked to the man at the front desk again.

"Hopefully, one of the tests will tell us what's wrong with you, you can be treated, and you'll be alright again," Combeferre said, Enjolras yawning into his fist, before wrapping his arms around himself, in a safe, protective position.

"I'm okay, Ferre. Nothing's wrong." He used the most convincing voice he could muster.

"No," Combeferre persisted, "I know something's wrong. I can feel it… To think she suggested depression… You would never be depressed. That's just not how you roll." That was true. Enjolras always kept himself busy, to avoid feeling anything negative. He was optimistic, looking forward to a bright future, that he was convinced he could achieve. A dreamer, was how his 7th grade English teacher had put it. He wasn't obsessed with every morbid detail of life, like Jehan, who wasn't necessarily depressed but was bordering on concerning, was. He wasn't legitimately depressed like Grantaire -. Enjolras stopped that train of thought, leaning his head against the window, and doing his best not to think of Grantaire, the entire ride back home.

Later that day, Courfeyrac bounced back into the house, "ready to go to the meeting?!" He exclaimed, Enjolras, who had been sitting at the kitchen table glaring daggers at the three carrots Combeferre had forced in front of him to eat, while he wrote rapidly in his notebook without looking at the paper, turned his head in Courfeyrac's direction, nodding. Combeferre emerged from his bedroom, stopping whatever he was doing, to grab his jacket from the coathanger, while he readjusted his glasses' position on his face. Enjolras took his jacket, Courfeyrac, who was already in his, leading the way out the door, "It's not fair," he whined, "I just got home, and now I'm leaving again!" He and Combeferre began a conversation on the rights of humans, while they walked down to the Musain. The meeting wasn't particularly eventful, and Enjolras did his best not to make eye contact with Grantaire, as the other Les Amis started dispersing, one by one. And then, Enjolras made a mistake. He got too invested in the speech for next week he was working on. And didn't notice when Combeferre, the last person other than himself and Grantaire, left the room. Once he did notice, Grantaire's head was already inches away from his own. He swallowed a scream, jumping to his feet, and darting for the door, only to be caught, and slammed into the wall, in a familiar position. Tears rolled down Enjolras' face, and his knees weakly buckled. He was only kept upright by Grantaire's hands, pressed into his arms.

" _Please_ ," Enjolras said, begging. Grantaire smirked, removing one of his hands from Enjolras' arm, and running it through Enjolras' golden blonde curls,

"It's your own fault…" He slurred, "you always tease, y'know. Flaunt your little fucking perfect angel looks…" Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras, and he tried to squirm away, as Grantaire shoved a hand over his nose, nearly suffocating him. He liked seeing Enjolras in pain.

" _Stop it,_ " Enjolras whispered, his voice raspy. Grantaire just grinned. And it wasn't a friendly grin, as his hands slipped further down Enjolras' body,

"You know you want this… Apollo. You know you do."

But Enjolras didn't want it. He couldn't protest any further, as a piece of cloth was tied around his mouth. He simply screamed inside his head.


	4. 4

"I hate myself, I hate everybody else, and I hate the world," Enjolras declared, as he sat down at the kitchen island, next to Combeferre, Courfeyrac sitting across from them, eating a cold slice of pizza for breakfast.

"Well, someone didn't get enough sleep," Combeferre said, rubbing Enjolras' back, as he slammed his head against the island. Courfeyrac threw a waffle at Enjolras' head from the plate on the counter. Enjolras took the waffle, sniffing it, before taking a bite, while Combeferre winced, probably going through numerous researchers' findings on germs from countertops in his head. Enjolras sat up, wincing, as his chest brushed up against the edge of the island.

"I'm gonna go get ready for work," he said, abandoning his waffle on the counter. Combeferre turned his eyes in Enjolras' direction,

"Eat something." Enjolras ignored him, as he walked into his bedroom, swinging the door shut. There was a meeting that night. He needed to come up with a way to skip it. It had been a month or so, since everything had started. Every single time, Grantaire managed to catch him alone after a meeting. He had been violated four different times. And he was done. He wasn't leaving the house. Or Combeferre. Combeferre was strong, and tall, and he could protect Enjolras. Enjolras went into the bathroom connected to his room, removing his clothes. He frowned, staring at the box of pads that were sitting on top of the toilet. He glanced up at the calendar hanging up over the toilet as well. Enjolras was typically a heavy bleeder, sometimes dangerously, so Combeferre insisted that he kept track of when he had his period every month. He normally bled around the beginning of each month. It was the middle of the month, now. And he hadn't bled. Probably just coming later, he thought. Enjolras lifted up his pajama top, wincing, as he slid it off of himself, staring back at his breasts, and squeezing them with his hands, desperate to make them smaller. They had hurt too much to be kept in bras, as of the late, due to multiple factors, and he hadn't been able to flatten them with sports bras like he usually did. They were wrong. He knew they were. His infected cut had grown even more painful, and most definitely infected. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about that. He had it wrapped up in a bandage, so that it wouldn't brush his shirt, and also so he didn't have to look at it. Enjolras made his way into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He still could barely recognize himself. There were scabs on his lips, from where he was constantly biting them. It hurt to eat, and he never wanted to anyways. He brushed his teeth, before exiting the bathroom, and making his way into the living room.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had been whispering to each other, quickly quieted as Enjolras entered the room, Enjolras sitting beside them on the couch, leaning his head backward, shivering slightly. Now the fun part. He hated lying to Combeferre, but he sure as hell wasn't going to work. Grantaire knew where he worked, and could catch him there. Grantaire also knew where he lived, of course, and it was Enjolras worst nightmare to be caught by Grantaire in his own home. His only safe place.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras asked, Combeferre looking at him, while Courfeyrac began putting his dominos, which were previously scattered across the coffee table in front of the three best friends, into position.

"Yes, Enjolras?" Combeferre said, as Enjolras leaned into his side, pressing his head against Combeferre's stomach.

"I don't feel very well." Combeferre frowned, giving him.a concerned look, while Courfeyrac toppled over his dominos with a cheer,

"What doesn't feel well?" Enjolras shrugged, swallowing nervously,

"M'cold. And tired." Combeferre nodded, placing the back of his hand on Enjolras's forehead, wincing,

"Alright, you're staying home. You want me to stay with you?" Enjolras nodded gratefully. His infections' fever was useful or one thing, apparently. Courfeyrac tore his eyes from his dominos, looking at the clock over the TV, and screaming, hurrying off to get ready for work. Combeferre chuckled slightly, standing to call himself and Enjolras out of work. Courfeyrac left the apartment ten minutes later with a loud,

"BYE!" Combeferre turned on the TV, and the remaining two men were silent, for a few minutes, before Combeferre finally spoke up, poking Enjolras's side,

"Enjolras?" Enjolras, who had been watching a fly on the the wall instead of the TV, continued doing so, Combeferre poking him again, "Enjolras?" Enjolras shook his head,

"Hm?" Combeferre pressed a hand to Enjolras's cheek,

"You should eat something." Enjolras wrinkled his nose,

"I ate yesterday, I'm good." Combeferre sighed, walking over to the wall, shooing away the fly so that he could have Enjolras's complete attention,

"You need to eat today, though." Enjolras simply shrugged in response, and Combeferre took this as a victory, running off to place some of the leftover soup from two nights ago he'd been saving, sticking it inside of the microwave, and giving it to Enjolras instead. Enjolras picked at it with a fork, Combeferre leaning back against the couch, passing Enjolras a napkin, in case he dripped. Enjolras looked so tired, and scared. He had been looking like that for a while now. And he hated it.

"Enjolras..." Combeferre hesitantly began, "you would tell me anything, right?" Enjolras put on a fake smile, despising himself as he did so,

"Yeah, you're my basically my brother," he lied. Combeferre nodded, laying a hand on Enjolras's shoulder,

"What's been up lately, then? Don't say nothing. I know there's something wrong, and Courfeyrac does too. You haven't been yourself. You've been more... Tired, and irritable, and anxious than usual."

"Just stress," Enjolras said, laying his head down on Combeferre's lap, and pulling his hand towards his stomach, for protection. Combeferre just gave him an amused look, rubbing his stomach, before pausing, and running a slow hand across Enjolras's side.

"Why is it... Raised, right here? There's like a bump under your shirt." Enjolras tensed, as Combeferre slowly lifted up the edge of his red shirt. Enjolras's heart pounded in his chest, as he tried to push Combeferre's hand down, before freezing entirely.

"Oh... Oh my god," Combeferre whispered, as he looked at the bruised, bloody skin underneath Enjolras's soft, clean shirt. His large, warm hand pressed against Enjolras's bandage, and Enjolras swallowed a whimper, Combeferre beginning to unravel the bandage. This may have seemed intrusive, but stuff like that was normal for them, as they shared such a close relationship. "How did you get this?" Combeferre asked, still unraveling the bandage.

"I-I was attacked in an alley on the way to... Work?" It sounded plausible enough to Enjolras, and Combeferre nodded, before his eyes widened, and Enjolras's bandage fell to the floor.

"My god... Shit, shit," Combeferre, who almost never cursed, said, as he stared at the infected wound, "E, get your jacket."

"Combeferre, it's fine -"

"NOW, E." Combeferre usd a loud tone of voice, that scared Enjolras slightly, and Enjolras jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket, and heading out the door with Combeferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out, I was in a different state for two weeks, with ten kids. It's also short, because I wrote this one on a tablet.
> 
> Thanks for reading this chapter, stay sooner for the next.


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